


The Borg Who Say Ni

by Ariana (ariana_paris)



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, First Contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-01-12
Updated: 1997-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariana_paris/pseuds/Ariana
Summary: A post-First Contact parody. Picard is still obsessed with shooting the Borg, Troi has developed a weakness for the bottle, and nobody has anything to do. Rated 12 for sexual situations and some swearwords.
Relationships: Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Borg Who Say Ni

**Author's Note:**

> Very silly story inspired by conversations on alt.tv.startrek back in the day.

"We are the Borg who say Ni. You will be assimilated."  
\-- Someone on the Internet

It was just another day on the starship Enterprise-E. Just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day... well, basically like every day since they had returned to their time after enjoying an adventure holiday on 21st century Earth, blasting Borg and messing around with timelines... the usual old stuff.

Things had been very calm since then, and the Enterprise-E bridge staff were settled in their usual routine on the little bridge. Data was playing Doom with Ensign Ethnic, who was at the helm, Riker was trying to trim the grey out of his beard before he started looking like Father Christmas, Troi was knocking it back, and Picard's snoring was competing with the warpcoil to see which would produce the most background noise.

Riker looked at himself in the mirror and briefly pondered whether he should dye his beard and give up on the trimming when a deep and profound thought (as opposed to a deep and shallow one...) occurred to him.

"I'm bored," he declared.

Picard woke up with a start and pulled out his phaser. "Humph? Borg?! Where? Where?" he yelled as he shot around him. Everyone ducked until he had calmed down.

Data had just taken this opportunity to shoot Ensign Ethnic, so he swivelled around in his play-pen to look at the captain.

"I believe Commander Riker was merely stating that he is tired of doing nothing," he explained, making a brave effort to hide the grin that was creeping up on him.

"Oh, ah, I see. Well, er, carry on," said the captain, all flustered and tugging on his uniform to make himself look more captainly.

"I agree interelely with Will, captain," declared Troi, waving her bottle of Tequila at Picard to prove her point. "We haven't had anything to do in agesh! "

"Sir, am I right in assuming you were asleep just now?" said Data with what was definitely a smirk on his face.

"No, of course not! What do you think I am? A doddering old fool?"

The staff all exchanged significant glances. Data grinned even more widely and would have rolled around on the floor, but for the fact he was trapped inside his console.

"Anyway, the point is that we're all bored to cracks here," said Riker, blowing particles of beard into the room.

<Atchoo> said Ensign Ethnic, who wasn't quite dead in spite of being shot by Data.

"We haven't had anything to do since we met the Borg," continued Riker.

"Borg?! Where? Where?" exclaimed the captain, pulling out his phaser and taking random shots at passing Okudagrams. Everyone ducked, and Data laughed, so Picard blushed, and looked embarrassed, and decided to do something captainly again. So he stood up, tugged on his uniform, took a step forward, and fell off his podium.

"That'sh shtrange," said Troi, as the captain fell in an undignified heap at her feet. "I feel intenshe pain!"

"I'LL MAKE YOU FEEL INTENSE PAIN, YOU DRUNKEN COW!" roared the captain from the floor.

"Really, captain," said the counsellor, cradling her bottle. "I have told you before, you musht really learn to control that temper of yours. I don't think my counselling techniques are working... beshides, I'm *not* drunk."

"Yes, you are," said Picard, pulling himself off the ground with one finger, just like he'd seen some Belgian do in an old movie. Anything the Belgians do, the French do better, as everyone knows.

"No, I'm not!" protested Troi.

"Yes you are," said the captain, sitting in his high chair again.

"No, I'm not!"

This could have gone on for some time, except that the Turbolift doors opened at that moment, and Doctor Crusher came waltzing in with the holodoc.

"Oh, doc, you're a wonderful dancer," she cooed appreciatively. "It's even better than your singing."

"But don't forget that I'm a doctor, not a..." he managed to say before vanishing into thin air on the grounds that he was a hologram.

"So, what seems to be the problem," said Crusher, waving her tricorder around to see if it could pick up Radio 4.

"Who called you?" asked Riker, just for the sake of it.

"Oh, no one," she said airily, looking for something to do. "I was just a bit bored. I mean, the holodoc is good, but where's a real man when you want one?"

Picard promptly started flexing his muscles in the hope that she would notice him. It was his lifetime regret that the cameras in Engineering weren't working when he and Data finally defeated the Borg Queen. He was sure the sight of him swinging from Borg conduits in his tank-top would have made her drop into his arms immediately.

However, the call of duty was even more muscular than the captain... or stronger, at any rate.

"Oh dear," said Crusher with all the emotion of a wooden plank. "Ensign Ethnic appears to be dead."

"Yes, I shot him," said Data.

"I see. He didn't have any lines, though, did he?"

"No, but he did sneeze," volunteered Riker.

"So it doesn't matter," concluded the doctor, snapping her tricorder shut.

"He was an excellent Doom player, however," said Data. "I had to shoot him in order to win."

"I'll remember that for his obituary," said Picard.

They all sat or stood around in silence waiting for something to happen. Nothing happened, however, not even a commercial break.

"Er, shouldn't someone replace him at the helm or something," suggested Crusher.

"What for? It's not as if we're going anywhere," Riker pointed out.

"Oh... I suppose I should go back to Sickbay, then," said Crusher without moving.

Picard cleared his throat discretely, which attracted Data's attention, if not the doctor's.

"Doctor, I do believe you should do a check-up on Captain Picard. He took a fall just now," said the android, who always kept an eye on the captain in case he got a chance to save his life, which would mean he would no longer be in debt to him, and would be able to save up to buy that little condo with swimming-pool on Celtrus III... but I digress.

"I *did* not..." started the captain, but then he grinned. "Ah yes, doctor, I could do with a check-up."

Crusher came over cautiously, waving her tricorder before her to fend off his irresistible masculine charm. It wasn't that she didn't like the captain, but she didn't want her colleagues to find out she had washed her pants with her Starfleet uniform and they were now a mottled grey. The truth be told, the fact she always forgot to wash her whites separately was one of the reasons her love life was so empty. She was always too embarrassed to undress. (Of course, the Trill wear grey underwear anyway, so Odan didn't mind.)

Right now, the doctor wished she had listened to her grandmother, who told her she should always wear clean underwear in case she got knocked over by a captain.

"Oh Beverly," said the captain as she leant over him. He didn't have any tricorder to protect him from her deadly blonde looks.

"Oh, Jean-Luc," she murmured, chucking away the tricorder and any worries about underwear.

Everyone else on the Bridge looked away politely and started whistling different tunes at the same time, all except Data, who had recently discovered that whistling in public engendered emotion #345 - Acute embarrassment. In the midst of all the cacophony, and just as Jean-Luc was showing Beverly his entry form for the Mister Universe 2374 contest, Troi finished her bottle and collapsed onto the pile of empties beside her chair.

This reminded Riker of his important discovery.

"Anyway, Data, I'm still bored."

"I am not, sir," said the android cheerfully. "I am currently watching our on-bridge monitor, so that, in the event that Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher do get naked..."

"Wait a minute, Data... Isn't there someone missing on the Bridge?"

They both looked around to try and remember who it could possibly be. They ended up looking at Crusher's grey panties for a minute or so, and then looked at each other.

"Do you suppose she washed them with her uniform, sir?" enquired the android.

"Yes. I do that all the time, too. You should see the colour of my girdle... uh, I mean, my briefs..."

"Yes, sir."

They were silent then, having forgotten what they were talking about before. So they watched the captain and the doctor making up for lost time for a moment longer, and then both looked down at Troi lying in her pile of bottles. And then they decided that would be unethical and potentially dangerous because of the bottles. Admittedly, Data wasn't so worried about the bottles, but he was also aware that he was still fastened into his Ops-pen. Bloody Starfleet designers.

"Oh yes! Jean-Luc, yes!" said the doctor.

"Humph," said the captain. "Umph. . Oh oui, t'aime ça, hein? Tu la sens, salope, tu jouis, hein?"

"Oh yeeees!"

"Oh ouuiii!

"Oh, that was great Jean-Luc."

"Hmmm..."

"Jean-Luc?"

"Zzzz."

Doctor Crusher looked around at the titchy Bridge and noted with satisfaction that Riker and Data had their eyes firmly fixed on the brown wall in front of them and that Troi was nowhere to be seen... no, closer inspection revealed that Troi had passed out on the floor. The doctor sighed with contentment. Evidently, no one had noticed what just happened, and more importantly, that her pants were grey. Still, it was worth it. She didn't have to envy Data for getting some every eight years anymore.

Riker let out a long sigh, and, finding that, thanks to thinking about cold showers and Data having it off with the Borg Queen, he was now able to walk, he got up and walked over to talk to Data. He couldn't get very near, since he didn't fit in any of the areas around Data's pen, so he stood in front of Troi's chair, placing his feet carefully to avoid stepping on Betazoids or bottles.

"Is it my imagination, sir," whispered Data without turning around, "or was that quite short?"

"Come on, Data, the man's seventy!" said the first officer.

"Actually sixty-eight years, ten months, fifteen days, seven hours, nine minutes, and eighteen seconds old... no, nineteen seconds... er, twenty..."

"Yes, Data. Anyway, you know what I mean."

"You mean he's getting old."

"Exactly. Any day now might be my lucky day. If only he didn't have an artificial heart..." But Riker allowed himself a little diabolical laughter anyway. His cackling was cut short by the feeling someone was pulling themselves up by his trousers.

"Deanna, cut it out," he said, flicking her off into her bottles.

She scrambled back into her seat and looked around to see if anything had changed since she passed out. Aside from the fact the doctor was now sitting on the captain's knee, everything seemed normal.

"I had a great dream while I was out," she declared. "I was sensing a lot of erotic emotions."

"No kiddin'," muttered Data.

Troi found an unopened bottle and broke its seal.

"I'm bored," said Riker as he sat down again.

"Why don't we invite Geordi up, and then we can all be bored together," said Troi.

"Geordi! Of course, that is who is missing," exclaimed Data. "...'That is who is missing'? That sounds terrible. Boy, will I be glad when I can finally get my tongue around contractions."

"I wish someone would get their tongue around my contractions," moaned Troi.

They all pretended they hadn't heard that.

"Geordi could replace Ensign Ethnic at the helm," remarked Crusher.

"I will call him," said Data.

"Perhaps we can have group therapy, or group hugging, or group sex, or something," suggested the counsellor.

"I vote for the something," said Riker.

"Data to La Forge."

>>Humph? Huh? Wha?<<

"Geordi, come and join us on the bridge. You can replace Ensign Ethnic at the helm, and we can play Doom just like the good old days."

>>Data, we were doing that this morning.<<

"Exactly, you would not want to lose your hand, would you?"

>>Righty-ho. I guess it beats napping in a Jeffrey's tube.<<

It wasn't long before Geordi arrived, and, Ensign Ethnic having been dumped into the nearest recycling unit following a few heart-felt words from the captain (and in spite of cries of "I'm not dead yet!"), everyone settled down for group boredom.

With the doctor on his knee, the captain felt twenty years younger, which meant he was still older than everyone on the ship (except Beverly, but it was only a matter of months). Having spent fifty years (thirty if you count out the twenty he had just lost and adjust for seasonal variations) solving mysteries, especially on the holodeck where he got to wear a nifty hat, he decided to investigate their collective boredom. He was, after all, a specialist on collectives.

"Right, listen up crew," he said, trying to be captainly even though he couldn't tug on his uniform. Crusher did it for him. "Ooh... Er, right. Everyone has been complaining about being bored. I think it's about time we did something about it. La Forge, activate the viewscreen. Riker, lay in coordinates for somewhere that looks nice. Data, work on finding a reason for our boredom. Doctor, you keep right on doing what you're doing. Troi... er, never mind."

There was a cacophony of beeps as everyone started playing Simple Simon on their consoles. Then the viewscreen appeared and showed them a nice view of a pink nebula. Of course, nebulae aren't supposed to be pink, but the Cat in the Hat had been there earlier.

Data turned around in his pen.

"Sir, I believe I have pinpointed the reason for our boredom."

"Yes, Mr Data?"

"It appears it is because we have nothing to do, sir."

"How insightful. Next time, I'll ask Troi."

"However," continued the android, unfazed. "I have been able to draw up a conjectural analysis of the situation. Our current situation is similar to the one we experienced after the crash of the Enterprise-D."

"Yes, but the reason we had nothing to do then was that we didn't have a ship," pointed out Crusher.

"Actually, we did not have anything to do for a whole year after we received this ship," said Data.

"Hey, you're right, Data my buddy," drawled La Forge enthusiastically. "We were all bored stiff then, too."

"That might even explain some of our mistakes during the Borg incident," said Riker with his usual tact.

Picard started shooting around him. "Borg?! Where? Where?"

Meanwhile, Data decided whistling in public wasn't so bad after all. Just as long as it kept anyone from making comments about him sleeping with the enemy and such.

"I, uh, I meant we might have, I mean... oh shit, forget I said anything," said Riker as he got up when Picard stopped shooting.

Data stopped whistling, much to everyone's relief, and played some rounds of Tetris on his console. This apparently revealed some interesting information.

"Sir, I have found some interesting information," he said for want of a better description. "It appears that, from now on, something interesting will happen to the Enterprise only every two or three years."

Everyone gasped.

"But that's terrible. We'll die of boredom," said Riker.

"Is this Starfleet's official plan?" asked Picard.

"Yes, sir. That is also why we have a smaller ship."

"So that's it!" exclaimed Picard gloomily. "I was wondering why this ship only had 24 decks."

"26, sir," said Riker.

"Yes, 26, of course. Who is defending the Federation, exploring new worlds, all that, then?"

"It appears most of Starfleet's top priority assignments go to Deep Space Nine."

"Wah," wailed Troi. "That's where my own true love is living it up with some Trill floozy."

"The Trill are very nice people," remarked Crusher. She caught Riker's eye and blushed.

"The second-class assignments get sent to an undefined area in the Delta Quadrant," continued Data.

"The Delta Quadrant? Isn't that where the Borg come from?" said La Forge before anyone could stop him.

"Borg?! Where? Where?" said the captain, phasering a hole in La Forge's console.

"Picard, the fire-horse of the Federation," muttered Riker in his beard.

"There, there, it's all right," said the doctor, patting Picard's head soothingly. "Mommy kiss it better."

"Maman..." he murmured.

Meanwhile, Data continued to investigate the data on his console -- mainly the names of all the Enterprise's designers and their families. It gave him some more interesting information.

"I do not believe it has anything to do with the you-know-whats," he said, lowering his voice a little. "There appears to be a Federation ship going around in circles out there. There are mixed feelings as to whether they are worth the effort. Some in the Federation are arguing they should be abandoned to their fate. Though I gather this does explain why we have not been seeing Q lately. He has apparently set up residence in that area with his family."

"Q? What's he doing way out there?" asked Picard.

"According to this, chatting up the female staff, insulting the regular characters, and giving the ship and crew a guided tour of the Continuum."

"The two-timing bastard! He never took *me* to the Continuum!" exclaimed Picard. "If that isn't just typical. Entities... they come into your life, put you on trial, kidnap you, sexually-harass you, make you dress up in tights, save your life and that of your species and then bugger off without so much as a by-your-leave. "

Troi raised a shaky finger and turned towards him. "Not to mention that he introduced us to the..." With a spectacular leap that belied his physical condition, Riker managed to slap his hand on her mouth before she said the fateful word.

"Oh Will, I knew you still cared! Oh, take me now, Imzadi!" she spittled on him.

"Uh, well, actually, I..." he tried to say, before she pushed him down amongst her bottles.

"I know why Q had left me," said Picard, as oblivious to Riker's pleas for help as he was to Crusher's growing jealousy. "This ship is too small. Why would an omnipotent entity be interested in a ship with only 24 decks?"

"Er, 26, sir," said La Forge.

"Yes, very good, M. La Forge, carry on," said Picard.

"Actually," said Data, "rumour has it that Q might be part of our next adventure.

"Oh, jolly good... Ow, Beverly, that hurts!"

The doctor went to sit on Riker's chair, arms crossed and obviously sulking.

"The rest of the information I'm getting seems to be junk, sir," continued Data. "It seems the Federation's top priorities include crucifying everyone at Starfleet Command for shutting down nine amateur relay stations, and determining whether the Enterprise would be able to defeat the Defiant. Wow, try saying that ten times in a row!"

"I'm sure this baby would wipe the floor with the Defiant," said La Forge confidently.

"Not if we only get work every two or three years," remarked Data. "The Defiant's crew would be better trained. After all, there is a steady flow of assignments for Deep Space Nine."

"Wah, my own true love," came a muffled wail from the floor.

"That bloody Klingon!" came another mutter from roughly the same area.

Picard sighed, and looked over at Crusher.

"Oh well, I guess this is our chance to settle down and raise families."

He went and knelt in front of the first officer's chair.

"Please, my darling Beverly, will you marry me?"

She thought about that and finally said yes.

"Oh my darling. Oh my darling," he said. Everyone held their breaths in mortal fear that he would start to sing My Darling Beverly. Fortunately, being French, he didn't know that song, and he had forgotten the words to Auprès de ma blonde, a song more appropriate to the occasion. Anyway, he didn't sing anything at all, much to everyone's relief.

Meanwhile, the doctor checked out the information on Riker's terminal.

"Oh, there's also a great deal of interest at Starfleet for Monty Python jokes adapted to assimilation and the..."


End file.
